


shop talk

by tarcanza



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Gods, no demons, no supernatural entities of any kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarcanza/pseuds/tarcanza
Summary: “My theory,” Sharpy says sagely, “Is that he’s been possessed by a divine deity. Some, like, god of love or seduction or some shit.”orThere has to be—hasto be—a reason Kaner is pulling all these gorgeous women.Kaner turns towards Jonny. He gets a glint in his eyes. “Better yet, I can show you, if you want,” he offers.Huh. Well. Surely a practical demonstration was more effective?“Okay,” Jonny says cautiously.(Despite appearances, there are no supernatural entities involved in the making of this fic)
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 28
Kudos: 270





	shop talk

**Author's Note:**

> This fic feels like a fever dream—all 5k words were written in the same sitting on a particularly industrious—or not so industrious, depending on how you look at it—Saturday morning. 
> 
> I really _did_ feel like I was possessed by a demon—hopefully it's enjoyable to read all the same!

“My theory,” Sharpy says sagely, “Is that he’s been possessed by a divine deity. Some, like, god of love or seduction or some shit.”

“You mean fucking Aphrodite?” Jonny asks sourly. “Why would Aphrodite possess _Kaner_ of all people?” He pauses. “Also, I _really_ don’t think that’s how that works, Sharpy. You’re thinking of demons.”

“Could be that too,” Sharpy mutters petulantly into his glass of beer, peering over at where Kaner is leaning against the bar, talking to a beautiful brunette. He ducks down to whisper in her ear, and she throws her head back and laughs, fingers skimming across Kaner’s forearm. 

“It just doesn’t make _sense_ ,” Jonny says despairingly, fingers massaging at his temples.

The booth is sticky and the air is hot, humid. And what the hell even is a _Fuzzy Navel_ and why the fuck did Jonny think it was a good idea to order one?

Point is—Jonny’s head hurts, he’s more than a little wasted, and he apparently lives in some sort of hell dimension where Kaner has more game than him. And not just him—more game than _anyone._ It’s kind of terrifying to contemplate, and if Jonny takes a surreptitious look out the window to see if there are any pigs flying over downtown Chicago, well—that’s his business. 

Jonny sighs, thumping his head against the table. “This is the darkest timeline,” he says, voice muffled. 

“There, there, Toes,” Sharpy says, patting Jonny on the back consolingly while Jonny broods over every bad thing he’s ever done to see if this is maybe some sort of karmic retribution—he should’ve never told his mother that David was the one who broke her great-grand-mère's jewelry box. 

It happens often enough that Jonny should probably be used to it by now—Kaner will go up to a girl about two long distance flights and a ten mile car-ride out of his league, lean in, say some shit, buy her a drink—sometimes, not always—say some more shit and then she’s looking at him all _starry-eyed_ and following him home. It’s confusing. It’s irritating. 

It defies all the laws of nature and mankind. 

“Fuck this noise, I’m going home,” Jonny declares, lifting his face from the table. He can feel the place where the coaster had left an imprint on his cheek. It’s late, Jonny’s pissed—in more ways than one—and they have optional skate the next morning, which means Jonny is showing up hell or high water. He needs to be responsible, set a good example and shit. 

Yeah.

It’s right at that moment when Kaner comes walking over, arm curled around his girl’s waist. “Hey guys, I’m heading out,” he says casually, like he’s headed home to settle down and watch some _Masterpiece Theatre_ with a cup of tea and not to fuck a hot girl. “See you guys tomorrow, hope you have a good night.” He smiles beatifically, and Jonny struggles not to glower. Kaner glances at him, smile growing wide and smug as if he can hear Jonny’s thoughts. “Taze, you got a little—” Kaner gestures at his cheek.

“Thanks, Kaner,” Jonny grits out while still trying to maintain a pleasant expression, because _fuck Kaner_ he has manners, okay? He doesn’t want to come off as an unhinged psycho in front of Kaner’s girl—even though she clearly has _awful_ taste. 

Kaner throws a quick wink at him before he turns around. 

_Fuck my life,_ Jonny thinks.

“Hey, Taze, weren’t you gonna leave too?” Sharpy pipes up innocently. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jonny snaps. He takes another sip of his _Fuzzy Navel._ Hmm. It’s actually not that bad. “I’m gonna get another,” he announces, jabbing his glass in the air. 

“Oh boy,” Sharpy mutters under his breath. 

Jonny comes back with his new drink in hand. There’s a second where the one remaining rational part of his brain makes a case for why Jonny shouldn’t be downing radioactive-yellow drinks at one in the morning, but it’s promptly thrown out by the larger part that’s chanting _let’s get blitzed._

The image rises unbidden; the girl riding Kaner, thighs splayed wide over his, her knees bracketing his waist. On his couch. Yeah, on his couch. Kaner’s sitting back, maybe still wearing that stupid baseball cap backwards on his head like he was at the bar. Big hands spanning her waist, reaching back to cup her ass and then working their way up her back. Maybe using his nails a little. His abs flexing. The dark flush—

Jonny throws back his drink. 

Oh yeah. This is a _great_ idea. 

* * *

It wasn’t a great idea. 

Why are the locker room lights so bright? _Who authorized this?_

“ _Fuck,”_ Jonny groans, sitting at his stall with his head in his hands. His poor, poor head, which currently feels like it has a small band of tiny men beating bongo drums to the beat of _Another One Bites The Dust_ inside it—at least his pain is rhythmically sound, or whatever. 

He doesn’t even have to _be_ here right now—stupid fucking sense of captainly obligation. 

“Good morning, Tazer,” Sharpy says brightly, walking over and thumping Jonny on the back. “How are ya feeling, bud?”

Jonny tries to send his most withering stare in Sharpy’s direction, but even twisting his face into a scowl hurts. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t you stop me from getting _three more_ of those cursed drinks last night?” he says morosely. Seriously. He doesn’t even remember getting _home_. 

“Because you’re a grown ass adult who can and should be responsible for his own life choices,” Sharpy says patiently. “Also, it’s pretty fucking funny to see you completely smashed,” Sharpy adds, snickering. 

What the fuck. No loyalty. Jonny can’t believe this asshole is his friend. _Maybe you should re-evaluate your definition of “friend”_ , the rational part of his brain, which had mysteriously disappeared the previous night, chimes in. 

“Well I don’t kiss and tell,” Kaner says loudly—which, _lie_ —while talking to Shawzy. “But let’s just say she knew how to ride.” He finishes it off with a lecherous smile. Charming. 

Jonny wrinkled his nose. Was this the kind of brilliant repartee Kaner brought to the bedroom? “ _She knew how to ride?” This_ is what worked on the ladies? Clearly, there was something _very_ wrong with these girls. 

Kaner ambles over. There’s a spring in his step, and Jonny decidedly does _not_ want to dwell on the reason why. 

“Hey, Taze,” he says, lips already twisting into a cocky grin. “Did you have a good night after I left?” As if he doesn’t know full well there was nothing Jonny could’ve done last night that would beat Kaner’s own adventures. 

“Oh, great!” Jonny replies with a fake smile. “Just had a good time with Sharpy here, pretty chill, you know,” he shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Jonny got shit-faced and I had to convince him not to get up and sing _She’s a Bad Mama Jama_ when the bar started their late-night karaoke special,” Sharpy intones from beside him.

“Hey!” Jonny says indignantly, torn between feeling murderous rage at Sharpy for exposing Jonny’s now not-so-mysterious alcohol-driven pursuits and being touched that Sharpy cared enough about him—or at least his PR team—to stop him from embarrassing himself in front of a crowd of unsuspecting Chicagoans. 

Kaner grins and pats Jonny on the head condescendingly. “Sounds fun, Taze. Better luck next time—hey, if you ever want any tips for getting the ladies…” he trails off, raising a brow. “All you need to do is ask,” he finishes sweetly, escaping before Jonny can throw his right glove at him. 

_“All you need to do is ask”_ as _if_ —Jonny would rather stab himself in the eye.

“I hate you so much,” Jonny tells Sharpy. “Also thanks for making sure my drunk ass didn’t appear on Deadspin, or whatever, I guess.”

Sharpy grins. “Only because you’re a terrible singer. If you had a nicer voice, though, I _totally_ would’ve let you get up there—you’d probably even gain some new fans. Jonathan Toews: Canadian Pop Sensation has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Jonny snaps his shirt at Sharpy while Sharpy ducks, but there’s no real heat behind it. He _guesses_ Sharpy is an okay friend, maybe. Sometimes.

* * *

Optional skate is a _bitch._

* * *

Here’s the thing. For every observable outcome, there's a concrete explanation: Jonny buys grapefruits instead of oranges because they have more Vitamin A while delivering the same amount of Vitamin C—and Jonny’s all about getting his bang for his buck. Sharpy buys expensive shampoo imported from France because it’s made with water from magical bubbling brook or fresh river spring outside some chateau or something because he genuinely believes it’ll stop him from prematurely losing his coveted hair—it’s a stupid reason, but it’s a reason.

So there has to be— _has_ to be—a reason Kaner is pulling all these gorgeous women, and it’s not his looks. Well, Kaner’s not _bad-_ looking by any means. He’s got that whole blonde, curly-haired boy-band thing going on, which is—yeah. If you’re into that sort of thing. He’s got blue eyes, which are kind of nice. They crinkle at the corners when he laughs, he’s got a great body, and his lips are like, soft and full, and the shape of them is—

The point is, it’s not Kaner’s looks. 

Like _definitely_ not.

Well, it could be because of—

Because of what Kaner’s packing. 

Look, Jonny’s shared a locker room with the guy for _years_ , so it’s kind of impossible for him not to know. It’s not like he’s _looked_ or anything, not on purpose. Maybe an accidental glance here or there in the showers, enough to know he’s thick and heavy and _big,_ even when he’s soft, bigger than Jonny—but that’s pretty much unavoidable. 

But there’s like, no way for Kaner’s girls to know that beforehand. Unless he tells them…? Yeah, no. Going up to a girl and telling her “I have a big dick” doesn’t exactly sound like a recipe for success. 

So what the fuck is it? _Not_ his fashion sense. He’s famous and successful? But hey, so is Jonny and _listen_ , Jonny does just _fine,_ thank you very much—but he’s not _drowning_ in it the way Kaner is. 

There is a common thread, though. 

Kaner, like, does this thing where he kind of ducks down—and in some cases, ducks up—and whispers in a girl’s ear. 

It must be that. 

It’s _got_ to be that. 

What the _fuck_ is he telling them? His bank account number? Where to find the _Holy Grail_? Like, fuck. 

“I give up!” Jonny bursts out, and Kaner looks at him in alarm. 

It’s a Saturday afternoon, they’re sitting on Kaner’s sofa and watching a dumb movie about an animated chipmunk who wants to be a math professor, so forgive Jonny for getting distracted and letting his attention wander to other, more dangerous, ventures.

“The fuck are you talking about, Jonny?” Kaner says blankly, hand pausing mid-air, en-route to the bowl of butter-free popcorn he’s holding. 

“The _girls_ ,” Jonny says in exasperation. “How the fuck are you pulling these hot chicks, man? I give up, I wanna know.” Jonny crosses his arms, setting his face in what he hopes is a look of steely determination. 

Kaner just looks at him for a moment, lips curling up into a smirk. “Oh, that,” he says airily, shrugging and turning back to the screen. “I just talk to them.” And then he goes right back to watching the chipmunk stress out over his undergrad calc final, or whatever. Seriously, who _wrote_ this crap? 

“You just talk to them,” Jonny repeats flatly. Kaner squints at the TV screen. 

“Mmm hmm,” he says distractedly. 

Okay, you know what? No. _No._ Jonny was putting a lot on the line here—namely his mangled, severely wounded pride, and he was going to _get_ what he sacrificed it for. 

Jonny reaches down to the coffee table, grabs the remote, and turns the TV off. He tosses the remote to the side and looks at Kaner expectantly. 

Kaner looks irritatingly unperturbed. “Is there a reason you turned off the movie right when Dougie was about to find out how he did on his calc exam?”

Dougie? That was the chipmunk’s name? Whatever.

“Listen,” Jonny starts again. “What do you _say_ to the girls?” 

Kaner blinks at him. “Just, stuff,” he says, vaguely gesturing. 

Jonny grits his teeth. “Okay, genius, _thanks._ But, like, what _specifically_?”

Kaner shrugs again. “Depends on the girl.”

Jonny groans, burying his head in his hands. “Kaner. Patrick. Come on, have mercy. Just _tell me._ ” Seriously, what else did Jonny have to do? Blow him?

Jonny raises his head to find Kaner looking at him thoughtfully. “You really wanna know?” Kaner asks.

Uh, _yeah_? Was that not evident from Jonny asking the question? “Yes,” Jonny says firmly. 

Kaner puts the bowl down on the coffee table, dusting his hands off on his pants. “Okay,” he says simply, and Jonny feels a sweet rush of vindication. _Finally._

Kaner turns towards him. He gets a glint in his eyes. “Better yet, I can show you, if you want,” he offers. Huh. Well. Surely a practical demonstration was more effective?

“Okay,” Jonny says cautiously.

Kaner grins. “Okay, well, it’s not just what I say, first of all.” Kaner scoots close to Jonny until they’re pressed thigh to thigh. _Woah._ Jonny instinctively starts to put space between them, but Kaner’s arm wraps around his bicep, stilling his movements. 

“Hey, you wanted to know, right?” Kaner says firmly but softly. Jonny swallows hard. 

“Y-yeah,” he says. 

“Then go with it,” Kaner says, releasing Jonny’s arm. 

“Okay,” Jonny says and Kaner nods, satisfied. 

“First, I start with a compliment. Something genuine, not all that cliché, fake shit.”

Then Kaner’s getting _close_ , holy fuck, nose skimming up the side of Jonny’s face until his lips brush against Jonny’s ear. 

“You smell really good,” Kaner says in a low voice. “Always. Like citrus and something warm. I don’t know what. Did I ever tell you that?” 

“N-no,” Jonny stutters out, not entirely sure if he was supposed to be responding or not. That was—okay, he can see why a girl might like being told she smelled good, that was—yeah. Good point.

Kaner’s not done.

He pulls back a little, looking up at Jonny’s face. “You do. I can smell it all the time. In the locker room, when we’re driving in the car together. Right now,” he adds, and Jonny’s throat goes dry for some reason. 

“It’s fucking distracting,” Kaner says, blinking up at him with his long lashes. 

“Uh,” Jonny says dumbly, because he has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to say to that. Was—was Kaner being serious right now? He couldn’t be, could he? The way he was looking at Jonny, the heat in his gaze—yeah, practical demonstration and all.

Jonny laughs uncomfortably. “Okay, I, uh, get it man. Compliment her. I’ll try that next time.”

“I’m not done yet.”

It comes out like a— _command_ , and Jonny finds himself rooted in place, shivers racing down his spine. 

“If she’s receptive,” Kaner continues, “I’ll initiate touch. Nothing creepy or overt. Keep it light.”

And then Kaner’s hand is circling Jonny’s wrist, thumb stroking little circles against his pulse point. 

Jonny feels so dizzy he has to close his eyes. 

“Then I tell her what I noticed about her, what caught my eye,” Kaner says, and it’s almost a whisper.

Jonny’s eyes are still closed. He can feel a flush building, spreading across his chest up to his cheeks. He—he should get up now. Definitely.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah, Jonny, good,” Kaner murmurs appreciatively, and when his fingers move from Jonny’s wrist to push up his shirt a little and stroke at his hip bone, it feels like a reward. 

Kaner moves closer again, lips grazing Jonny’s ear. “Fuck, Jonny, so many things I could say. So many things I could talk about. Your hands, your eyes. Your ass. _Fuck,_ Jonny, do you have any idea the way your ass looks in those shorts?” Jonny lets out a harsh little gasp. He can’t—

“Been making me crazy,” Kaner continues, hand moving from Jonny’s hip, across his lower stomach, and reaching down to press the heel of his palm against Jonny’s hard dick.

Jonny can’t help it—his hips jerk up at the touch, eyes flying open.

He has to—he _has_ to—

He turns to meet Kaner’s gaze. 

Kaner looks _wrecked,_ eyes all glazed over, mouth parted. 

Holy _fuck_ what the fuck is Jonny—

“Hey,” Kaner says, reaching up to cup Jonny’s cheek. “You’re good. You’re okay,” he says soothingly and all the tension just kind of—seeps out of Jonny’s body. 

“Jonny,” Kaner says intently. “Look at me.”

Jonny swallows hard, looking into Kaner’s blue eyes. 

“Do you want this?” Kaner says quietly. “It’s up to you.” His gaze is serious. Jonny knows he means it.

Jonny still isn’t _there_ yet, doesn’t understand the shape of his desires or how he came to be sitting pressed to Kaner’s side with Kaner’s hand hot against his dick. 

But, _fuck_ —

“Yes,” Jonny says, voice coming out a little rough. “Yeah, Kaner.”

And then Kaner is smiling at him all soft. He rises up and presses a kiss right on Jonny’s forehead, and—

Jonny doesn’t have words for the feeling that’s sweeping through him. 

Kaner stands up.

“Come on, follow me,” he says, reaching out his hand. Jonny takes it in a daze, following Kaner to his familiar bedroom—the black and gray sheets, the stupid 88 rug on the floor, all looking so fucking _different_ in this new reality. 

“Stay there,” Kaner says, releasing Jonny’s hand. He leaves Jonny hovering uncertainly in the middle of the room while he sits down on the bed. 

Jonny is—what the fuck is he supposed to do now? Kaner said—

“Jonny.” Kaner’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Take off your clothes, baby,” and _fuck_ Jonny almost stumbles because that—

Jonny’s hands go hesitantly to the hem of his shirt. “Like..?” he asks and then winces, because _yeah,_ how else were you supposed to take off a shirt?

Kaner doesn’t laugh though, just looks at him, eyes all hooded. “Yeah, Jonny, just like that. Shorts too. And underwear.” Jonny feels progressively more flushed with every item of clothing Kaner lists. 

Jonny takes his shirt off in one swoop, shivering a little at the cold air against his bare skin. 

He clears his throat. “Where do I put…?”

“I don’t care,” Kaner says immediately, so Jonny just tosses it on the floor because the prospect of taking time to fucking _fold_ it right now seems completely absurd. 

Jonny’s about to start taking off his shorts when—

“Wait,” Patrick’s voice comes out and Jonny freezes. “Turn around.”

Jonny does, feeling nerves and anticipation alike dancing in his stomach. 

Jonny hears Kaner get up, walk towards him. 

The muscles in Jonny’s back tense subconsciously and then—

Kaner’s thumbs, gently digging in. 

“Relax,” he murmurs, breath ghosting across the nape of Jonny’s neck, continuing his touch until Jonny’s muscles go lax.

“Good,” Kaner says again, and that warm feeling fills Jonny’s chest.

Then Kaner is crouching down, slipping his fingers into the waistband of Jonny’s shorts, reaching further to collect the fabric of his boxers and then sliding them down Jonny’s legs.

Jonny can’t help it, he feels—vulnerable, his skin being exposed inch-by-inch to Kaner’s gaze, and Jonny can’t even fucking _see_ because he’s facing the other direction. 

It’s like Kaner can tell, because he wraps his hand around Jonny’s lower calf, and just the simple touch centers Jonny.

Jonny’s shorts and underwear hit the floor.

“Step out, baby,” Kaner says, and Jonny lifts his feet one-by-one so Kaner can take the clothes and toss them aside. 

Kaner puts his hands on either side of Jonny’s ankles and then—rises, hands sliding up the sides of Jonny’s body, coming to rest at Jonny’s waist as Kaner gets to his feet. Kaner presses a kiss to Jonny’s upper back.

“So good, Jonny,” he says. “Making me feel so good,” and Jonny instinctively feels embarrassed because that was _nothing,_ he didn’t even _do_ anything, how was he making Kaner feel good?

“Let me give you a reward,” Kaner says, pressing his forehead against Jonny’s back and then _fuck_ —

Jonny groans, because Kaner’s hand—Kaner’s beautiful, big, talented hand—is wrapped around Jonny’s cock. 

“So wet for me—gorgeous, Jon,” Kaner says, using Jonny’s precome to slick the way for every hot, perfect stroke.

Jonny bites down on his lip to stifle the harsh breaths rising to the top of his lungs and then feels the light slap of Kaner’s other hand against the top of his ass.

“None of that, now,” Kaner chides. “Let me hear you.” 

So Jonny lets his mouth go lax, loose, letting every harsh breath filter through his mouth, letting his hips thrust up into Kaner’s grip.

Kaner lets go, and Jonny doesn’t even recognize the sound tearing out of his chest.

“Shh,” Kaner soothes, fingers curling into Jonny’s waist. “You’ll get yours, baby, don’t you worry. Okay,” Kaner says, “I need you to stay right there. Don’t turn around.”

And then Kaner is withdrawing, and Jonny wants him back so badly his throat is tight with it. 

He hears the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor. 

_Oh_ , he thinks, going hot. 

Kaner comes back to stand behind him.

“Now I want you to get on the bed, hands and knees, okay? Facing the headboard,” Kaner says.

Jonny will. He’s going to. But—

“Can I see first?” Jonny chokes out, words hanging in the air for a moment.

“Yeah, of course,” Kaner says, voice soft. “Turn around, Jon.”

Jonny turns and—

He thinks he’ll remember this sight for the rest of his life, maybe.

Kaner’s hair, all soft from the shower he took a few hours ago, the dips and valleys of every sculpted muscle, his long, thick cock, pink at the head, precome pearling at the slit. 

The tender look in his eyes. 

“Good?” Kaner asks with a small smile. “Yeah,” Jonny answers, unable to articulate that _good_ doesn’t begin to cover it. 

It’s stupid, but that’s the moment that makes Jonny really blush, centered in his cheeks, not a flush rising from his chest. 

Jonny walks to the bed, gets on his hands and knees, staring at the bedspread, _Kaner’s_ bedspread, the same one he’s wrapped around himself on nights where they both got too drunk to bother with guest bedrooms and societal boundaries imposed on friendships and just collapsed, falling asleep together.

It sounds like Kaner opens a drawer, maybe, shuffling the contents around.

The drawer shuts.

A pause, then the crinkle of a wrapper being torn.

There’s a hand on his hip. 

“Gimme your right hand, Jonny.”

Jonny reaches back.

Is that—

Kaner is coating Jonny’s fingers in lube. 

“Open yourself up for me baby,” Kaner says and it’s vague, not a clear directive like everything else Kaner’s said but _fuck_ Jonny knows, and the implications of it all make his breath come out fast.

He has to press his forehead against the headboard for a moment.

“There you go,” Kaner murmurs, running his hand up and down Jonny’s back, and Jonny suddenly feels like he can _do_ this.

Jonny reaches back, fingers pausing near his entrance. He doesn’t—

Kaner’s fingers wrap around his, guiding them to Jonny’s hole.

“Start slow,” Kaner advises. “One finger.”

When Kaner’s hand goes back to smoothing across Jonny’s back, a little lube smears into his skin from where Kaner’s fingers had collected it. 

Jonny tentatively pushes in. There’s resistance at first, but the drag gets easier until Jonny is knuckle-deep. 

He lets himself adjust.

“One more now,” Kaner says and Jonny shudders, pulling out before going in with two, repeating the process. He flexes his fingers on instinct, curls in a bit and _fuck_ —

A shocked cry leaves Jonny’s mouth.

“ _Shit_ ,” Kaner swears. “Baby, take your fingers out, I gotta—” He doesn’t finish his thought. Jonny draws his fingers out, feeling suddenly empty and then—

“ _Kaner_ ,” Jonny moans out, because Kaner is sliding his cock along Jonny’s ass, then holding him open as he thrusts a few times. 

The head of his cock catches on Jonny’s rim and Jonny—

He _needs_ it, he fucking needs it—

Kaner withdraws. “Sorry, sorry, Jon,” he breathes out. “I just had to— _fuck,_ okay, you can keep prepping now.”

The words lodge in Jonny’s throat for a second. 

“I’m ready,” he says finally. “I’m ready now.”

Kaner lets out a low laugh, leans forward so his body is bracketing Jonny’s. 

“Fuck, Jonny—you’re gonna have to open yourself up better than that.” The words are hot against Jonny’s ear, Kaner’s breath skittering down his neck. 

“I know you know how big I am,” Kaner murmurs. “I’ve seen you looking.” Kaner thumbs at his hip bone, cock pressing insistently along Jonny’s ass. Jonny lets out a harsh breath, hips stuttering. He feels—crazy, like he’s burning up from the inside out. 

“But,” Kaner continues, reaching around to give Jonny’s cock a quick stroke before releasing him completely. “I think you wanna feel it, don’t you?”

“ _Fuck_ , Kaner,” Jonny chokes out. He feels his thighs split further at the words, back arching deeper to press his ass harder against Kaner’s cock. He almost sobs in relief when Kaner strokes his thumb across his hole, curling in just the slightest bit.

“Yeah,” Kaner breathes. “You need it, don’t you? Something to fill you up.” He withdraws his thumb, and Jonny can’t help it—he lets out a little whine, face flushing pink at Kaner’s words. Kaner pets at Jonny’s side in a grounding touch, the tips of his fingers grazing the top of Jonny’s ribs down to the ridges of his tightly clenched abs. 

“Don’t worry baby,” Kaner reassures, dropping a kiss to the top of Jonny’s spine. “I’ll give you what you need.”

And then the head of Kaner’s cock is pressing against Jonny’s hole. 

Just the feeling of Kaner against him like that, so close to entering him, makes his head spin. “Please, Kaner,” Jonny begs. “ _Please_ ,” he babbles, not even sure what the fuck is coming out of his mouth.

All he knows is that he feels achingly empty, and that only Kaner can make him feel whole.

Then Kaner’s pushing in, and it’s—a _lot_ , the burn and the stretch of it making Jonny fist the sheets, but—

It’s so _good_ too, scratching an itch Jonny never knew he had, Kaner’s cock sliding in like it belongs, the hot drag of his length moving in and out, making Jonny fall apart. 

“Is this what you were thinking about when you saw me going home with all those girls? My cock pushing into them, making them feel good?” Kaner asks harshly, snapping his hips in deep. 

“Bet you convinced yourself you were thinking about the hot clench of their cunts, Jonny, didn’t you? But fuck, Jonny—you don’t want to give. You want to _take_ it,” he punctuates it with a sharp thrust, a change in angle that makes stars explode behind Jonny’s eyelids. 

Jonny hadn’t even realized that his eyes were closed, that there are _noises_ —pants and whines and moans and cries falling from his lips with every thrust of Kaner’s cock inside him. 

“And you do, look at you,” Kaner continues. “Never seen anything like it. None of those cunts were as tight as your little hole, so hot around my cock, taking me in so good. None of them needed it the way you do.”

Jonny can’t— _fuck_

He sobs out, feeling tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He has no idea what’s happening to him, no idea what Kaner’s done to him, but he knows that he’s _never_ felt like this before, so overwhelmed and fully consumed, arousal thrumming bright through every fiber of his being. 

“You think I’d be going home with any of them if I knew I could have _this?”_

And that’s it. Jonny cries out, harsh whine escaping his lips and—he’s coming, spurts of white come coating up his abs, dripping down and holy _fuck_ , he doesn’t even know how that happened because he’d completely forgotten about his cock, so focused on the way Kaner felt seated inside him, pistoning in and out.

Kaner curses behind him, thrusting in one last time and coming with a choked moan. 

Jonny winces when Kaner’s cock pulls out, and Kaner’s hands gentle across the top of his ass in apology. 

That was—

Fuck.

Holy _fuck._

“Jonny,” Kaner says, and Jonny turns towards him, heart beating in his throat. He feels dread, cold and miserable, wrapping around him. 

_You wanted to know,_ his brain reminds him. _You wanted to know how Kaner gets those girls._

_What it’s like to be one of those girls._

He wants to turn his face away, but Kaner catches his chin. 

“Jonny,” Kaner repeats. “Look at me.”

This time, it’s a request.

Jonny does, and what he sees steals the breath clean out of his chest. 

The way Kaner is looking at him, he—

All of Jonny’s worries melt away. 

“You’re a complete and utter moron,” Kaner says fondly. “I can’t believe you drank five _Fuzzy Navels_ because you didn’t wanna see me go home with another girl.”

“It was four,” Jonny says automatically, making a mental note to put Sharpy back on his hit list because that fucker just had to go and tell Kaner every detail down to Jonny’s embarrassing choice of drink, huh?

Kaner cups Jonny’s cheeks in his hands, peppering kisses across his face. 

“Use your _words_ ,” Kaner says with exasperation, pressing an extra kiss to Jonny’s cheek.

Jonny sniffs. “That’s your thing, buddy, not mine.”

Kaner groans, burying his head against Jonny’s chest, curls tickling Jonny’s chin. “Do you _have_ to call me ‘buddy’ literal minutes after my dick has been in your ass?”

“What? Are we not buddies anymore?” Jonny asks innocently.

“No.”

Jonny blinks at Kaner. 

“I mean, I don’t wanna be, um, just—” Now Kaner’s the one getting flustered. Jonny grins slowly. 

“I don’t know, actually.”

Kaner reaches out to lightly punch Jonny in the shoulder. “Jonny, _come on_.”

“Nope,” Jonny says, popping the ‘p’ gleefully. “Use your words.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr ](https://tarcanza.tumblr.com/) for updates and also on [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/tarcanza). Come say hi!


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